


Body, remember.

by nicasio_silang



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicasio_silang/pseuds/nicasio_silang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She should leave, or she should make a real effort to wake him up. But the thing is-</p>
            </blockquote>





	Body, remember.

**Author's Note:**

> This is non-con that takes place within an established relationship. 
> 
> Takes place vaguely after the first Iron Man film.

Tony's definition of "morning" on the day after a tough mission tends to extend into the late afternoon and early evening. Pepper figures it's understandable, and even a bit sweet, to see him so totally sacked out. She goes about her business around the house, running back and forth to the SI campus, checking in on him every few hours. The only signs of life come from his changing sleeping position, the amorous push of his face against her thigh that's all the effort he can muster, and the changing ratio of full-to-empty bottles of that horrific wheat-grass concoction.

Finally, it's 8PM and Tony's so far made the monumental move from sleeping on his back to sleeping on his stomach. He's kicked off most of the sheets and snuffled his face down between two pillows, tucked his arms up under them too. He'd look like a kid if it wasn't for the boxer's build of his back and shoulders, and the full, inviting rise of his ass just under the sheet.

"Tony," she shakes his shoulder. "You up to eating something solid?" He makes a noise that's a sigh or a snore. With what must be heroic effort, he lifts his whole arm and plops it back down across her lap. "I meant food, actually, but I suppose that's negotiable."

She tries running three fingertips down the dip of his spine and for her trouble receives the sight of his hips pushing into the mattress. Attaboy, she thinks. She slips the sheet down around his thighs and runs her hand back up along the inside of one, brushing his leg hair the wrong way. Usually that would garner at least a shiver, but now, when she pauses and listens, she can tell he's breathing soft and even, his hips have gone still. He's asleep again.

She should leave. She should leave, or she should make a real effort to wake him up. But the thing is--

The thing is, he's never like this. Even when she's taking charge, he's never exactly pliant, never just still. There's always a quirk in his grin or grimace, there's always an eyebrow raised like a challenge, there's always three people in the room: Tony, Tony's ego, and her.

That must be the reason that she's slipping off her shoes until she's in stocking feet, hitching up her skirt so she can kneel between his splayed legs, and reaching one-handed for that nook under the mattress where there's always a travel-sized bottle of lube.

She finds it and tucks it into her palm where it'll warm a bit. She leans forward on her hands and knees, half to really make sure he's sleeping, half just to...just to breathe in the air at the nape of his neck. Cottony with indolence, heavy and a little bitter. That metallic pennies-on-your-tongue tang that settles into every spot on his skin where there's a joint in the scales of the suit. 

Stretched out belly-down like this, it's almost like there's nothing wrong with him. The reactor is a background buzz that barely radiates into the mattress. 

Pepper runs a hand lightly along the curve of one rib where the tension is still alive even when he's dead to the world-- the automatic and unnecessary instinct of his body to clutch the reactor in, keep the whole contraption from just slipping clean out of his chest and leaving him gaping open. She wishes he could just relax for once, for half a minute. Even when he's sloppy drunk, when he's reclining on the couch, when he's in the middle of a Roman banquet, there's this thing clenched tight, like he's panicking, like he's been panicking for more than a year now. 

She gets more firm, testing, rests one cheek across his shoulder and runs the side of her palm along his side, over the curve of his ass, back up between that sweet crease, and she feels more than hears the confused and aroused sleep-sound he makes. It's as good as agreement. She can do this.

Pepper slides back slowly, less cautious and more self-indulgent, pretty confident in how tuckered out he is. Her breasts brush along his back, and she drops a dry kiss on his tailbone as she moves to settle back onto her heels. She knows this usually works better the messier it gets, so she squeezes a generous amount of lube into her hand and takes her time just sliding that palm up and down between his ass cheeks, the tip of her pinky catching briefly on his hole each time, and it's easy, this is coming easy to her. Tony sighing far away in a rhythm, and she takes her time until he's rocking back into her just a little, on automatic.

And it's easy, it's so easy then, to add a bit more lube just in case, and slip just the tip of one index finger inside. And it's natural to turn her wrist one way then the the other, corkscrewing in, back almost out, a bit further with every other turn, while running her free hand across the soft back of his knee beside her. 

She's rocking a little now, biting her lip. He's moving gently under her, and he's hard. She can smell it. There's a bead of sweat at the back of his neck, and another that she's caught on the back of his knee, and she rolls it, she rolls it under the pad of her thumb, she rolls it back and forth across a tendon.

Tony's huffing breaths into the mattress, making a soft mmm, and some unconscious, lizard-brain instinct gets him to spread his legs even wider, to spread himself out for her. Pepper bends forward and braces one hand on his hip, she replaces one finger with two, and pushes hard, pushes steady. She's got the heel of one of her feet pressed against herself, spreading sparks. He looks like any other guy when he's like this, like just some guy named Tony. She can't even see his face. 

It's long minutes just like that, quiet but for the slick, soft sound of them together, for her breathing getting quicker. And then Pepper places her free hand on his back, right down low and in the middle, and leans in, and moves him, moves them, helps him rock himself into the mattress. She adds a third finger and now he's honest-to-God keening and she's there with him. She lets her head fall until the tip of her nose hits his spine as it rises every time.

He's so close she can feel it like static rising in the air. She doesn't know if it was like that before the reactor, but it always is now. She doesn't need anything but to be in the same room. It's uncomfortable; it's a current running through the walls, under his skin, and she feels it through her fingers, running right into her bones. 

Her knuckles judder against him, she stutters, and she says come on right out loud because she can. She squeezes the soft side of his stomach and puts a bare hint of fingernail into it, and then- oh-

And then his head is snapping back and he, and Tony, he lets out this noise like a car forced into gear. His eyes fly open wide and dark, afraid maybe, but coming, coming hard and for too long. He's shaking on the inside, around her fingers. The muscles of his back tense up instantly, visibly.

He doesn't even look to check that it's her until he's fallen forward again and taken a moment to let his chest heave. When she pulls her hands away from him, she's shaking too. 

Pepper sits back. Sweat sticks her blouse to the spot between her shoulders, to her breastbone, and under her arms. 

"Pepper," he manages. It's rough. 

A couple seconds and then it's clear that he doesn't have anything else to say. He slides his arms out from under the pillows. They've probably gone numb or something by now. She looks. She looks at his. She looks past his face to the damp part of the sheet where his mouth must have been.

"S-" she starts. "I'll get you some water." Pepper scoots back and unfolds her legs, places the tips of her toes on the floor. 

"Pepper."

"There's dinner in the kitchen," she says, and she presses her thighs together tight, but the feeling won't stop.

She hears him move, and spots a wince out of the corner of her eye. He was in a pretty rough fight yesterday. And anyone would feel uncomfortable after sleeping for so long. He turns over and tries to sit up a little, and it's weird to have him moving now, watching her. 

They stay like that for a while, and he doesn't find something to say. She pulls the hem of her skirt back down into place. He gets up and walks haltingly to the bathroom. She hears the shower come on.


End file.
